


justice bends the arrow at your heart

by asphodelgrimoire



Series: sinners in the hands of an angry god [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Crying, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, Lots of that too, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Religious Guilt, Sexual Abuse, Skewed Perception About Healthy Relationships (i die), Trans Aaron Burr, Trans Male Character, i mean it's not described but still... lots of abuse, like.... lots of that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 13:16:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6908707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphodelgrimoire/pseuds/asphodelgrimoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And so he sees Jon read all the emails between he and william.paterson@princeton.edu. </p><p>He can almost tell which one is being read by the look on Jon's face. </p><p><em>You're special-</em> and his expression becomes confused. </p><p><em>I didn't mean what I said yesterday-</em> and his mouth twists.</p><p><em>What did I tell you about biting-</em> and he looks like he's going to be sick. </p><p>(sequel to "these bruises make for better conversation" and will make the most sense if you read that first!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	justice bends the arrow at your heart

**Author's Note:**

> well.... this one's kind of dark y'all
> 
> anyway yeah i mostly gave all the notes i had in "these bruises" so... enjoy?
> 
> title from the sermon by jonathan edwards

_He deserves to know. He deserves to know._  

That's all Aaron can say to remind himself not to slither out of the bed and never again see the light of day. It's not what he's currently doing that makes him want to scream; that's overwhelmingly pleasant compared to everything else in his life. Jon is very nicely molded against his back and has an arm slung protectively over his waist. He isn't snoring, and the cold tip of his nose against Aaron's neck is something to focus on. 

It's what he's about to do. What he plans to do anyway. 

He turns around, and surprisingly, Jon doesn't awake. He bumps their cold noses together and finds himself momentarily calmed by the light from the window. The white curtain softens it, and the clouds are still framed by orange. It can't be later than seven. 

It's so quiet. He's never had such a peaceful morning. 

He almost enjoys it. 

Jon stirs briefly, pressing his equally cold lips to Aaron's jawline and letting his head fall forward onto Aaron's shoulder. He mumbles and smacks his lips. Then he's back to being static. For the next twenty minutes or so, that's how it is. Aaron is worrying about his plan, and Jon is mouthing against his neck- restless even in his sleep. 

Eventually, Elizabeth comes in with a Keep Calm I'm The Doctor cup full of ice. Aaron tenses and grabs the pillow to keep from throwing Jon off of him. 

"Oh," Elizabeth says. Her face doesn't twist up, she doesn't sneer, she doesn't even look phased. She makes eye contact with Aaron, knows he's awake and speaks directly to him. "Too bad, I really wanted you to see the look on his face when I dump ice on him. But this is good too. I guess." 

She walks back out with a quiet "don't tell me if you have sex with him, though," and shuts the door behind her. It's gotten lighter outside, and now Aaron doesn't know what to think. He feels tears sting the corners of his eyes. _What is it now?_  

Jon awakens just as he starts shaking. _How convenient._ "What's wrong?" he says, unhurried and heavy with sleep, but just as concerned as the night before. He's patient, moves his hand up from under Aaron's tank top to his arm. 

"I don't know," and this time, he means it. He tries to think of an explanation. "Your sister's so nice." 

Jon's eyes go from tired to sad, like he wishes Aaron didn't have to cry every time someone was decent to him. He kisses his friend's forehead. "Did Lucy come in here?" Aaron shakes his head. "Oh, Elizabeth?" He nods. "She is nice. Both of them are. They can be obnoxious, but they're never not kind." 

Aaron is overwhelmingly grateful for the vindication. He was expecting Jon to call him out for his low standards regarding generosity. _Well, compared to your uncle, they are._ But Jon is truly kind, he understands, and he only wants to help. 

More the reason for him to know. 

"I need to show you something," Aaron blurts, before he can back out. 

"Uh-huh," Jon says, thumbing away the last of his tears. "What is it?" 

"Could you, um, get my tablet?" 

"Sure," Jon says, and does exactly that. That regrettably means he has to leave the warm comfort of the bed, and thereby leave Aaron's small cold body without its heat source. Aaron hears his backpack unzip, then re-zip, then Jon is handing him the tablet. 

Aaron turns it on and inputs his passcode, _2266._ He opens the Gmail app, which already has him logged in. "Um, so... I don't know how to explain... this. I just- want them deleted. It's all in that thread," Jon is back on the bed, sitting with his legs crossed, and he grabs the tablet back when Aaron shoves it into his hands frantically. 

And so he sees Jon read all the emails between he and [william.paterson@princeton.edu](mailto:william.paterson@princeton.edu). 

He can almost tell which one is being read by the look on Jon's face. 

 _You're special-_ and his expression becomes confused. 

 _I didn't mean what I said yesterday-_ and his mouth twists. 

 _What did I tell you_ _about biting-_ and he looks like he's going to be sick. 

He knows that when Jon's knuckles get pale on the frame of the tablet, he's read the handwriting email. 

Jon hands it back to Aaron with shaky hands, and Aaron looks down, guilty. He didn't mean to upset Jon with his personal issues. 

"I'm sorry," he says. 

"There's no need. I'm glad you showed me. But please be honest with me. Did he actually-" 

"Yes." 

Jon gulps like he's swallowing a piece of ice. "And did you want it?" 

"No," Aaron responds, and then quietens, staring at his hands. "Does it still count?" 

Jon's face twists up again, this time in confusion. "What-" and then it hits him. "No. It doesn't count. He doesn't count. He didn't... It doesn't count." 

Aaron breathes a sigh of relief. He doesn't want to think that William has him. He doesn't want to belong to someone who made him bleed. He thinks of how nice it would be to sleep with Jon for real, to have him be the first, and then banishes the thought. His face heats up, embarrassed that he could think of sex while being confronted with the things that had happened to him. 

Jon sighs, making Aaron snap to attention. "I can't tell you what to do. What happens now is up to you. What do you want to do with this?" 

"What would you do?" Aaron counters. 

"It doesn't matter. But you have options. What do you want to do?" 

"I don't know," he replies, frustrated. He doesn't want to make these decisions for himself. "I don't want to press charges, but I don't want to see him again. I don't want him... to be at Princeton." 

"Okay. So you don't want to go to court," Aaron nods. "You can report him for misconduct now, and get a restraining order when you go back to school, maybe," Jon says, a bit unsure. He makes a few gestures and makes points in the air with his index finger, connecting them in his mind. "Yeah. You could do that." 

Aaron tries to keep his breath even. "How? I don't have any proof." 

"You don't have any proof of assault. You do have proof of harassment," he tapped his finger on the tablet screen. "You can screenshot these, delete them, send it to Princeton. Ever since they violated Title IX, they only aim to please now. I know you don't want anything big, but if you make it seem like you're willing to _make it_ big, they'll get scared and fire him. Restraining orders rarely need evidence in harassment cases, but they won't be sounding alarms if you attach the emails as proof too." 

Aaron drops his head onto Jon's shoulder and hands him the tablet. "Thank you," he says, and then laughs a little, chokes on it. "Can you screenshot it for me? I don't know how." 

"Don’t thank me. Thank law school and nervous college boards," Jon smiles against his temple and presses a kiss there. "Sure," he says, and Aaron closes his eyes until he's done. "Do you want to do the honors?" Jon turns the screen towards Aaron, showing him that the thread is already in the trash folder. He taps _Delete forever_ and watches it disappear. He knows he won't forget it, that he might not ever be okay, that this doesn't mean it's over. But it's cathartic to see the email address disappear from his inbox. "You don't want to see them again, correct?" Aaron nods. "After you decide what you're going to do, if you're going to send them to anybody or not, we'll delete the screenshots too." 

He nods again, fervently. He just wants the actual William to go away so he can start dealing with the aftershocks. Jon wraps his arms around him, and Aaron is glad to be reminded that he has a panic room. He relaxes into the hug as Jon drops the tablet back into his backpack. 

"First though," he starts. "Summer. We have to visit your sister, go to Mystic definitely, beaches and aquariums if you want, the lobster is not optional, and chances are, Lucy will force us into an antique mall or two. Also not optional." 

"Mystic's an hour trip," Aaron notes with a bewildered smile. "Why there?" 

"Because the only places to go in Litchfield are boring farms and vineyards, and you're not going to be stuck in this ghost town all summer," Jon explains, and gathers Aaron into his lap. "You'll love it. All that old-timey stuff. Soda shops, ice cream, kites, stuff like that. There's even a tea shop. Everything's quaint and vintage. Except for maybe the Boardwalk, but that part doesn't matter." 

"That sounds fun," Aaron says in a murmur, and he is listening, he really is, but he's also in Jon's lap. He still feels guilty that he was able to think of sex while talking about the emails and what happened, but the guilt isn't unbearable; he shifts so that he has a knee on either side of Jon's waist.  

Jon is still talking, albeit with furrowed brows. He takes one of Aaron's hands from where it's anchored on his chest, and goes quiet. Aaron shrinks back, feeling stupid suddenly. He's being a bad friend, and Jon wouldn't want damaged goods in the first place. 

"I'm sorry, you can keep talking, I was-" he starts to push away and averts his gaze, more embarrassed than hurt. Jon doesn't restrict him from moving, but he keeps Aaron's hand in his, and presses his thumb into Aaron's palm, kisses his fingertips. Does the same thing to his other hand. 

"There's no need," he says again. "Just tell me what would make you happy, and I'll do it." 

As he fails to hold back tears, Aaron wonders why he has to be so fragile. He falls back into Jon's arms. Remembering that he's cried three times in the last twelve hours doesn't help. "Why?" 

"I want you to be happy," Jon says, cradling him. That only makes Aaron sob harder, and this time, he isn't consoled. Jon holds him through it but doesn't say anything, just rubs circles on his back as he coughs and hiccups. It's exactly what he needs. The thought that someone has his best interests in mind is jarring enough; he doesn't need words. 

His sense of time is terrible, but it's almost fifteen minutes later that Aaron sits up and lets Jon wipe his face of tears with his own shirt. He leans precariously to get a few tissues from the bedside table and holds Aaron while he blows his nose loudly. Jon cups the back of his neck to keep him close. 

"Do you want to go back to sleep?" Aaron nods. "Okay. Let's get some breakfast first. I don't want you to wake up hungry. I'm sure dad has made something." 

He doesn't have the energy to be afraid of Mr. Bellamy, so he nods and lets Jon stand up (only protesting weakly via clutching the stripe on the side of Jon's shorts).  

"Can you lift your arms?" he asks, and Aaron does. "Good," Jon says, and gently tugs a hoodie down over his head and arms. Aaron clutches at the sleeves of it then, rubbing his cheek into the shoulder. Then Jon's kneeling and pulling long warm socks over Aaron's calves. "The house is cold," Jon explains, and he's sure it's true, but Jon makes it sound an excuse. He nods anyway and lets himself be pulled up onto his feet. It is much warmer than if he were barefoot and in a tank top, but not warm enough. So naturally, he puts all of his weight on Jon's side and makes a helpless noise to signal that he needs assistance in the form of constant affection. 

Jon smiles and wraps an arm around him, practically holding Aaron as they walk out of the bedroom and into the (admittedly very cold) hallway. They take a left into the living room and Aaron tugs on his shirt hard until Jon's forced to pin him against the wall. It's freezing, even with the hoodie, but he doesn't mind when his best friend is looking at him like he's made of stars. He bares his throat, expecting a bite or a nip, for Jon to leave a mark on him. Instead, Aaron gets a kiss on the hollow of his throat and several more all over his neck, sweet and chaste even as Jon boxes him in with a hand on either side of him. He ends up taking one hand away to tug the hoodie down and get at Aaron's collarbone. 

Aaron doesn't know what to think. He'd just convinced himself that a bite was what he wanted, what he'd deserved. He doesn't have to convince himself that he wants tickling kisses that burn him and make his throat dry. He stays where he is until Jon pecks him on the lips, then he slides down a little and burrows back into Jon's chest. 

"Okay, kitchen," he breathes, and Aaron's surprised to hear him affected as well. 

Jon turns around toward the kitchen with Aaron still huddled to him and inhales sharply for just a second. "What?" Aaron asks, concerned. 

"Jesus, dad, you nearly gave me a heart attack," Jon says. Aaron freezes up and doesn't turn around to look at Mr. Bellamy. Jon's still hugging him, and he did say that his dad was okay with it, but that doesn’t make Aaron less afraid of getting kicked out. He tries to keep his mind from the worse options. 

"My blood pressure's rising just looking at you two," Mr. Bellamy says, laughing. Aaron can imagine him shaking his head, but his laughter is mirthful rather than mocking."When's the engagement party?" 

" _Dad,_ " Jon groans, his grip on Aaron's biceps getting a little stronger, pulling him a little closer. He sees the tension in his friend's shoulders and goes to console him. "Hey," he says, and squeezes Aaron tight. "It's okay." 

Mr. Bellamy also apparently sees the tension, but doesn't make an attempt to address it directly. "I made coffee, but your mom isn't feeling well, so she isn’t going to be making breakfast. There's some pancake mix in the cabinet and fruits in the fridge. You know how to use a stove. Make it work. I'll be in my office, but don't call me unless someone's dying. Potential donors override your inability to be a civilized human being. Aaron can call me. At least I know he'll try first." 

Aaron huffs a laugh and purses his lips to keep from smiling. His face is still buried in Jon's chest, and he feels stupid for being afraid initially. He doesn't feel stupid enough to turn around though, so he stays there until he hears Mr. Bellamy pad away to his office. 

"You heard the man. Pancakes, it is," Jon grumbles and pats his shoulder. 

"Can I stir it?" Aaron asks, retreating from the warmth to find pancake mix. He eventually discovers that he has to climb onto the counter to reach it, but that doesn't bother him too much. When he turns around, Jon is smiling at him from the kitchen table with raspberries and bananas in hand. All the ingredients, including measuring cups and a whisk, have already been taken out for him. "What?" He smiles back, even if he doesn't know why they're both smiling. He understands enough. 

Jon shakes his head. "It's nothing, just thinking." 

Aaron knows it isn't nothing, but he doesn't say anything more. He just kisses Jon, slow and sweet, giving back what he got in the hallway, and hopes that he makes Jon's throat dry too. 


End file.
